The bar was dimly lit, neon lights flickering lazily above as music pulsed through the speakers. You and your friend sat at a high-top table, half-finished cocktails in front of you, the kind that were too sweet but hit just right after a long day.

You were mid-laugh, retelling some embarrassing story from college, when you felt a sudden presence by your side.

A woman.

Disheveled. Wobbling slightly. Her eyes glassy.

Before you could even register what was happening, she slammed her hand on the table, pointed at you like you'd personally ended her favorite TV show, and slurred out:

“You... you're all the same.”

You blinked. “Uh… what?”

“I hate men,” she snarled, voice thick and aggressive. “You’re all disgusting, lying, cheating—” she waved her arms wildly, “slimeballs!”

You and your friend stared at each other, both dumbfounded.

Your friend, lips twitching, leaned in closer and whispered, “Do you even know her?”

“I’ve never seen her in my life,” you muttered back.

That didn’t stop her.

“Oh don’t play dumb!” she snapped. “You’re probably the type that says, ‘Not all men,’ right? RIGHT?!”